


Little Voice

by Quite Disastress (itrlytiz_quitedisastress)



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Angst, Dream Sex, I Tried, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Purple Prose, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-15
Updated: 2020-09-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:21:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26482582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itrlytiz_quitedisastress/pseuds/Quite%20Disastress
Summary: After The Gang goes into hiding for a bit of down time, Jigen finds that he's not so hidden after all. It's a hot afternoon, and he's alone and feeling bored.
Relationships: Ishikawa Goemon XIII/Jigen Daisuke
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	Little Voice

The thing about being penniless (both currently and/or in the past) is…you get thrifty when you can.

Although he could have paid more for something with a few more amenities, Jigen opted for an apartment that was one step above a squatter’s residence. Dirt-cheap rent, month-to-month lease, for ease of exiting whenever he got The Call to Action again, gas stove complete with missing burner, ice box. No TV, but the radio got good reception, and the local stations broadcasted some of the finest classical music the world had to offer. On days when he was lucky, the university students would occasionally busk or hold impromptu concerts in the streets. Small groups of friends or maybe those majoring in music performance would take their stringed and brass and wind instruments to the outdoors, and Jigen would listen to the golden tones from across the street, perhaps with a cup of coffee and a scone. They were nearly ready for the big leagues.

But as time wore on, the outdoor music became few and far between. Trastevere was going through one of the warmest summers on record. The city was much too far inland to get any ocean breeze, but the moisture in the air from the river made for an atmospheric stillness and weight that became almost suffocating. Having hot coffee turned into a less than pleasant experience for the gunman (although he still indulged – he would be a fool not to). Fresh out of the oven pastries and warm pasta were…still delicious, but he found his appetite was much weaker these days. The fine wines that were easy to find and purchase (and drink) made his blood run hot. If nicotine fits weren’t such an issue, he might have even quashed his cigarette buying habits. But a man can only sacrifice so much.

Fuck.

Did he say that out loud? How long had they been laying low?

As he passed the town square’s fountain, a stone wonder depicting regal emblems, with organic flourishes and swirls, for some inexplicable reason, Queen’s _Bohemian Rhapsody_ popped into his head and wouldn’t let go.

Great.

The dilapidated key (a real key, a metal one) rattled in the lock that was, surely, just a turn or two away from falling off the apartment door. Jigen really had nothing worth stealing, anyway. Well, he _did_ , just not _right here_. He tossed his newly-purchased pack of cigarettes on to the flimsy coffee table, let his jacket fall to the floor, and lit up eagerly.

The damn apartment had 1 ceiling fan.

No climate control.

Another heavy sigh. He wondered what Lupin was up to, if he was also dying of heat. What about Fujiko? Were they together (again), or had they split up (again)? And Goemon? Was he letting himself be a human, or was he using the time off to train more studiously than ever? The gunman felt he at least knew the answer to that question.

Jigen loosened his tie in an attempt to get more comfortable. A gleam ran along his forehead, and wet, salty patches were forming along his shirt. He had half a mind to run a cold bath and just sit in it until the sun went down. Then he could grab a pillow and just sleep on the hallway tiles – much cooler than his stuffy bed. He winced; he could hear his back complaining already.

Jesus.

His jacket made a soft thud when he discarded it on to the floor. Jigen toed off his shoes and socks and gently tugged the pull cord to activate the ceiling fan (one speed only: sluggish). The revolver, almost literally joined at his hip, came out of the holster so he could hide it under the beat-up couch. He collapsed on to the said couch, the impact forcing him to cough just a little.

As a true testament to the debilitating heat, the gunman took his hat off in an attempt to cool down. He even fanned himself with it, sapping what little energy he had left. With a heavy sigh, Jigen gave up on any hope of being comfortable in his own temporary home-away-from-home. Staring at the fan, the gunman puffed away, contemplating his life.

It was as he had told Goemon – he wasn’t going home because there was no real home for himself to go to. Not like Goemon’s village or Lupin’s practice of shacking up with different women until it was time to move on. Jigen liked Rome. He also liked New York and Paris, though they were probably just as hot right now. Reykjavik was also wonderful, and would undoubtedly have better weather, but Jigen had hunkered down there the previous time. Ah, well.

He let his eyes drift closed as he snubbed his cigarette into the chipped ashtray on the table. He blindly rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, ran a hand through his damp hair, and stretched his long and lanky body before relaxing and going slack.

Everything was so warm and heavy…like the afternoon just hung in the air.

“You look comfortable,” rumbled a deep voice from just above Jigen’s face.

The gunman’s eyes flew open. “G-Goemon?! What in the shit-”

“Relax, Jigen. It’s just me.” It was, in fact, just Goemon. Hakama and kimono and Zantetsuken and everything. He was leaning over the back of the couch, looking down at the gunman.

“But how in the hell did you get -”

“The lock is very weak, Jigen. I think you already made note of that.”

Wait, what? Did he? To Goemon? “Uh. Yeah. I should probably do something about that,” muttered Jigen, bewildered and on the brink of a heart attack. He grunted and began to sit up; it felt a little bit like pushing through water. The air was so thick, swamp-like.

But before he could really move, the samurai gracefully jumped over the back of the couch, and with careful precision, landed just so that he was straddling Jigen’s lap. No extra weight where it would have been dangerous, and a slight gap between his hips and Jigen’s. No hard landing. Calculated. Exact. He thought he heard Zantetsuken thud to the ground, abandoned.

Well, well.

“Goemon?”

There was even less space between them now. The samurai leaned forward and put his weight on Jigen's hips unbidden. “It’s good to see you, Jigen.” He ran a pale hand up Jigen’s face, eventually burying it in Jigen’s dark hair. Needing no further prompting, Jigen leaned up, eager to kiss the other man. He threw his arms around Goemon’s shoulders, encouraging him to take what he needed. Goemon’s other hand came into play, cupping Jigen’s face. Their lips met enthusiastically - their happiness tangible in how fleeting the kiss was, ruined by smiling mouths that couldn’t stay puckered. Chuckling (because, certainly, men do not giggle), they pressed their foreheads together, swapping sweat.

After he had calmed down some, Jigen relaxed and fell back to the couch. “It’s good to be seen, Goemon.” He drew his fingers down Goemon’s chest, open and vulnerable to his touch. His skin is like warm silk and is in stark contrast to Jigen’s darker complexion and calloused fingers. Jigen skirted the top layer of Goemon’s sarashi. There’s a slight sheen along his torso: sweat. “Aren’t you hot?” he asked, grinning.

The samurai grinned right back. “Aren’t you?”

Jigen gripped tight to Goemon’s lapels and pulled him forward aggressively. “Oh, babe,” he whispered into Goemon’s ear, before giving the lobe a gentle nibble and drawing it into his mouth, “I’m just burning up. You have no idea,” he panted.

And with those words, Jigen became a man on a mission. He practically tore Goemon’s kimono from his shoulders and grabbed at where it was tucked into his hakama. But the samurai fought back, rushing forward to undo the buttons to Jigen’s shirt.

But, wearing a garment largely free of fastenings meant that Jigen was able to divest Goemon of his clothes quicker than Goemon could even work his shirt off. “Dammit, Jigen!” the samurai cursed, even as he assisted in throwing his own hakama to the ground. The gunman simply threw his head back and laughed. The scuffle had resulted in so much wondrous contact, but it was quickly becoming comical, which isn’t the road Jigen wanted to travel just now. Jigen grabbed Goemon’s hips in a definite and confident action, slowing his movements from frantic to erotic. He rubbed slow circles into Goemon’s hips, just above his fundoshi, applying a firm pressure.

“Relax,” Jigen soothed. His hands began to wander, rubbing up Goemon’s thighs over and over. Up his samurai’s glorious, exposed torso. Jigen lunged forward, following a salty line of sweat with his tongue, swiping it roughly over Goemon’s nipple. Goemon gasped and arched his back, shoving his groin against Jigen’s lap. He threaded his fingers through Jigen’s wiry hair and crashed their lips together, desperate, hot, and deep. Goemon thrust his tongue into Jigen’s mouth, velvety soft, gently stroking along the sniper’s own. The gunman found his hands wandering along Goemon’s back, down his spine, and tried to work at the complicated knot that held the samurai’s fundoshi in place. Fuck. This was more complicated than taking a bra off a woman in the dark. Goemon made a frustrated sound, his cock hard and leaking against the fabric. “Relax,” Jigen said again. Formulating a better strategy, he leaned back and spoke softly, competing with only the sound of the rotating fan blades. “You got me right where you want me. So,” he proposed to the samurai, “the question becomes…what are you going to do about it?”

Goemon grunted in response. “I’m. Going.” The samurai planted his hands on Jigen’s chest, his fingers curled into the fabric. As a single drop of sweat ran from his temple to his chin. “To go. Insane.” He ripped Jigen’s shirt open. The buttons he had been trying to be so considerate of flew off in all directions. The display of wantonness made Jigen gasp and he couldn’t help himself any longer. He ran his large hand up Goemon’s thigh and cupped the samurai’s hard, weeping cock in his hand; the fabric of the fundoshi damp with sweat and precum. He began to stroke and Goemon thrust into Jigen’s hand in response, moaning. His pale complexion had warmed a bit, a delightfully light and peachy tinge ran across his cheeks. Whether from the heat of the air, or the heat of the situation, Jigen didn’t know. He threw off his shirt, eager to jump back into the afternoon’s activities.

“I’ve got you, babe. Not going insane on my watch.”

Goemon smirked. “Then get naked.”

"Yes, sir."

Goemon, who Jigen had initially assumed was quite shy about these sorts of things, swatted the gunman's hand away from his waist and undid the knot on his fundoshi before attacking Jigen's slacks. It was a goofy tangle and scramble of limbs getting everything off without actually changing positions, but they somehow managed in the end. Jigen brought his hands up to his tie and began to loosen the knot even further. Much to his surprise, Goemon shot his hands out and latched on to Jigen's wrists, immediately stopping the action. "Don't," he said quietly.

"You want it on?" Jigen asked.

"I do."

Jigen's smile was like a fish hook - all curved to one side. It was lascivious, lewd. "Then it stays."

Questioning the action somehow put Goemon back into his own head, and the samurai pursed his lips and looked away. "Ah. I mean, unless you-"

"No! No, nonono," Jigen almost laughed, but Goemon's hesitation just resulted in the man being even more embarrassed and there was no need to push him any further. "I'm sorry!" Jigen crunched up and threw his arm over Goemon's shoulders, pulling him close. He kissed the samurai's temple, and tenderly moved his face so that they were eye-to-eye. "Don’t be afraid to ask me for anything. Hell, don’t be afraid to take anything, for that matter.” It was endearing to Jigen that Goemon wanted to ask for something in bed (couch). Adorable.

Goemon, for his part, must have taken that to heart because he gripped Jigen's tie and yanked, forcibly pulling their lips together. Hot breath mingled with hot air, and Jigen ran his rough fingertips over Goemon’s smooth, sculpted muscles. When Jigen opened his mouth, Goemon stepped up to the invitation. His tongue was unhurried, and when it retreated, Jigen followed but not too closely. Instead, he teased the samurai with little licks across his lips and the tip of his nose. It made Goemon smile. But fuck, if he wasn’t the most beautiful thing Jigen had ever seen. “Let me-" Jigen licked his lips and swallowed. Pupils blown, hair askew, and panting, he said, “Babe, I want you on my cock so _bad_.”

The samurai’s eyes flew open. Sure, he had a decent idea of how things were going to end up, but to hear it so explicitly, so wantonly from a man ordinarily so aloof…

He began to rummage through his discarded clothes. The sword oil was…not ideal, but it was readily available. And Goemon wasn’t unaware of Jigen’s general behaviors – he probably didn’t have anything like real lubricant in the apartment. There was no need, and Jigen tended to indulge in other vices.

“I’ll show you,” Jigen breathed, opening the jar. “I’ll teach you.”

\----

Jigen tried his best to keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to miss anything. But this was so _slow_ , so _sweet_. This afternoon on the couch was like a calm sea before a lazy storm – gentle rolling waves, humid air, the occasional rumble (or moan or growl or gasp) of thunder. It was so easy to close his eyes and just let himself _feel_.

But if he did that, he would miss _this_.

"Shit," Jigen whispered. He tried to drink in the sight above him.

Goemon’s breath came out heavy and slow, coming up from a deep well within his chest. He didn't bounce or flail on Jigen’s hard dick – he made his actions as smooth and controlled as if he were reciting a kata. The strong cords of muscle would contract and release with his effort, and he would occasionally toss his head back to get the hair out of his face, refusing to let his roaming hands leave Jigen’s chest.

The marksman thought his man looked like a classic movie star. Goemon’s jet black hair and dark eyes contrasted sharply with his pale skin. A lifetime of combat training led to sinew and hard lines of muscle, like a Greek statue. His facial features were chiseled and masculine, although Jigen couldn’t help but notice a softness around the edges – like they somehow exposed what a gentle soul he really was. When he was at the right angle, the sunlight streaming in from the window would land across the samurai’s face and his irises would illuminate in a warm ring, looking like pools of melted chocolate. And his intense gaze was focused directly on Jigen. The gunman snaked his hand up Goemon’s body; briefly rolling his thumb against a hard nipple, and making its way to his cheek. Goemon leaned into Jigen’s palm, pressing small kisses into his wrist. Some of Jigen’s voice slipped out at the tail end of an exhale, “Gorgeous.” His voice sounded thin, happily exhausted.

Every now and then, Jigen and Goemon would meet each other’s hips in a place that was darker, deeper, and the samurai would sigh or moan in exquisite pleasure. It was a sound of surrender, soft and happy. He would drape himself over the gunman, bring their faces together and kiss in a way that was almost too saccharine for Jigen’s liking. Like there was real tenderness there, and it made Jigen afraid.

  
He was afraid of the hole in his heart –a greedy and hungry beast that hadn’t been fed in years. It would swallow up any drop of affection freely offered until there was nothing left of the donor. And the marksman would hurt, and the hurt would turn into resentment. So, Jigen starved himself.

But you can only be hungry for so long.

He chased Goemon’s lips and tongue, introducing a frenzy to what was originally a lazy pace. Lacing his fingers behind Goemon's neck, he held the samurai in place. Goemon, not one to back down from a challenge, began to nip at Jigen's chin and jaw. The bites created a delicious sting that lit Jigen's nerves on fire. "Ah!" The gunman tipped his head back, and Goemon huffed, satisfied in his tactic, and lunged forward to bite and suck at Jigen's neck, licking the resulting angry red marks in a soothing action after he had taken his fill.

Jigen reinforced his grip on Goemon’s slim hips. He began to thrust up hard and fast, determined to bring this to completion. He gripped Goemon's dick and began to stroke. He wasn't going to last much longer, and he didn't want to disappoint Goemon, who was gifted with youth and stamina.

"Hng!" Goemon grunted with what Jigen thought was surprise when he began to jerk his cock. Did he really think Jigen was just going to leave him high and dry? "Ah, Ji-, ah!" Jigen began to piston his hips with purpose.

"Oh, honey...you feel...so... _good_ ," the marksman ground out in a hedonistic groan. "So hot. So tight." He helped himself to a handful of Goemon's ass, applying dominant pressure in his squeeze.

They found each other in their respective rhythms, and their pace increased. It was like the music Jigen heard in the square – their movements complimenting the other’s, weaving together like a symphony. He forced his hips up and up and harder and harder. The samurai responded almost immediately, pushing himself down to meet Jigen’s thrusts. The sounds of skin slapping skin hung in the air. “Fuck. Fuck, Goemon.” He was nearly breathless.

But poor Goemon was having trouble just saying Jigen's name. "Ji-, ah, Jige-, mm!" The samurai was rendered speechless, reduced to short gasps. The stimulation was coming from all angles and areas. Jigen's generous, but somewhat frantic, energy and technique were lighting all of his fuses and he was about to explode.

“Stop!”

Jigen was rattled by the command, but obeyed. Oh god. Had he hurt Goemon somehow? Oh no. “Goemon? Shit. Did I-“

“Mm, no. Shutup.” Goemon’s reply was terse, no surprise there, but it was clipped and fast. With a grunt and some effort, Goemon pulled himself off of Jigen and backing up to the other arm rest. “Please. Jigen,” he huffed quietly. Jigen looked at him quizzically. “On my back. _Please_.” Oh.

 _Oh_. “Of course,” Jigen said, nigh-on breathless. He scooted up on his hand and knees, approaching Goemon on all fours. “Pull your knees back for me?” It was an odd way of phrasing what he actually wanted Goemon to do, and the confusion was evident. The samurai got an A for effort though. Jigen reached out and rearranged Goemon just a little bit, so that he had room to thrust back in, shoving the samurai’s legs up and open. He sighed as he sank back inside Goemon. He was so pliable, more relaxed now than ever. “Shiiit.”

Goemon arched his back, his arms were behind his head and gripping the arm rest. His jet black hair clung to his neck and jaw – a sweaty mess, but free in this moment. “Fuck me,” he whispered. “Fuck me,” he repeated, with barely any voice behind it, “please.”

“I got you,” Jigen whispered back, “I got you.” Somewhat amazed he had lasted this long, although Goemon’s idea to switch positions had a hand in that, Jigen began moving his hips again. There was a comfort now – nothing new to memorize or get to know. His undulating movements stoked more fire between them and, once again, he began to rub and tug at Goemon’s cock.

The samurai gasped and began to speak, but was interrupted by a small vocal hitch, almost like a hiccup. Jigen noticed that Goemon was unable to speak coherently for the rest of the encounter, and nothing could have stroked his ego more. Round 1 and a Half, such as it were, didn’t last long. Goemon wasn’t even really able to warn the sniper of his impending release – all Jigen got was a big gasp before the samurai went taught as a bowstring and Jigen, happily, fucked him right through it. He finally howled, raspy and primal, and couldn’t recall the last time he had been so vocal during sex.

He didn’t even have the forethought to at least try to keep his eyes open, to watch Goemon come.

When he pulled out after some difficulty, he reached for his discarded shirt and got a good look at Goemon – flushed and exhausted. His eyes had watered at some point; not tears, but a natural reaction to physical intensity. Jigen began wiping them down, but made it a point to lick Goemon’s chest clean. When their eyes met, Goemon laughed. “I appreciate the effort. But…I don’t think I have anything left in me.”

“Just cleaning you up,” Jigen explained. “Why? Your cock wanna twitch?”

“It does,” Goemon confirmed, absolutely certain that something had awakened in himself. Jigen continued cleaning with his shirt until he found he couldn’t really muster the effort. Good enough. He remembered collapsing backward with an exhaustion that somehow got into his bones.

And then nothing at all.

\---

When it was all over, after Jigen knew he could never really wear that shirt again, when their heartbeats had slowed, Jigen laid back. His legs were splayed, one falling off the side of the couch, the other with its foot hooked over the back. The arrangement left a large enough space for Goemon to nestle close. The samurai leaned into the crux of Jigen’s neck and shoulder, inhaling the scent of ash and salt, even nipping or kissing occasionally. It didn’t even matter to them that the physical contact resulted in a sweaty, sticky mess. Jigen just wanted to card his fingers through Goemon’s silky hair, wipe at the sweat that gathered at his temples, and call him every term of endearment he could think of. “You were really something.”

“I- what?”

“I mean you were…assertive.” Jigen pushed Goemon’s bangs out of his eyes. “You’re usually a little shy, Goemon. A bit buttoned up.”  
At this revelation, Goemon propped himself up on his elbows. “Well, I’m certainly not-” even as he tried to explain himself, the samurai began to blush. Jigen grinned and waited patiently for Goemon to find himself again. “This is new to me, Jigen.”

“Relax. I’m just…making comments. I love this.” Jigen felt…lighter, somehow. Like he was alone. “Hey, Goemon. Remember when you said…you didn’t know how to get closer?”

“Hm?”

\---

One of Jigen’s hands, once perched on his belly, slipped to his side. The motion tore him from his dream.

Hm. What? What was it…?

Oh.

 _Ah_.

He should have known. Jigen was too old to really believe that a first time is ever that perfect, even with Goemon. Sword oil? Ugh. And topping while on a couch? How would his knees ever make it through intact? There were missing pieces and parts and assumed information.

But he did have to pause and give the situation more thought.

He didn't have a sex dream.

He had a dream where he and Goemon made love. Jigen groaned and palmed the tent in his pants (yes, he was still wearing them; it really was a dream), wishing he had proper lubricant somewhere in the apartment. But even more than that, he wished Goemon was somewhere in the apartment.

The sniper absently thought about finishing himself off, but a few clicks and creaks coming from the door was more than enough to kill his arousal. He shot up from the couch and immediately got into a defensive position, revolver already retrieved, drawn, and aimed. But the panic was uncalled for – it seemed like the landlord was just slipping some mail through the space between the floor and the door.

Hm.

No one knew he was here, except for maybe That One Person. And Pops, maybe. Well, probably not Pops, actually.

As he stood up, he got a better view of the letter – a single sheet of paper and a goofy caricature that reminded him of something like a peanut and a monkey face fusion.

 _Gokurousan_.

The calling card.

Jigen holstered his gun and looked around to see if anything needed to be packed or saved. He really hadn’t acquired much during his stay. Aside from a few changes of clothes and some cigarettes, he was free to move. He picked up his hat and crowned himself with it, smiling to himself.

Time to go.

**Author's Note:**

> From the bottom of my heart: What are this? What ARE this?
> 
> Good god. I wrote like 90% of this in one go and that last 10%...not. That way. It was really difficult to sew this all together and I like a lot of it, but some of it is just…like, I expect better of myself, but when I went through the editing process, I just shook my head a lot because I couldn’t think of anything better. I should probably give this another once over and edit it further but. I am very done with it for right now.
> 
> And, more than anything, I wanted this off my plate.
> 
> Anyway!
> 
> This narrative didn’t really seem to fit into the overall happenings of my other Lupin fics, so I made it a dream sequence and I am sorry for the cop out. Maybe it was the only way I could gather up the courage to actually write a sex scene. In my defense, I tried to pepper in little hints that it was a dream. And be self-deprecating about my inability to write anything satisfying.
> 
> I initially didn’t want this to be so feels-y with literal awkward moments, but I think – for me personally anyway – that these interactions are what really make sexual interactions endearing and realistic, so we have things like Goemon getting embarrassed about asking for something and Jigen getting in touch with how he really feels (a skill that needs regular practice).
> 
> And I like to include details that Jigen is not young anymore. I think his age would be a prominent factor in how he views what he wants from relationships.
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed and if you have any concrit, please share!
> 
> Shoutout to ZhoraKys and their wonderful headcanons about pet names.


End file.
